Lion Head Mesa do not assess a man who has nothing, and thus falsify your pen

How typical, she thought; where Naberius had been methodical and quick, a dancer as opposed to an iron fist, this one sought power.
And she was not about to give it to him.
He aims for her ankle with a hurtle forwards, and she narrowly dodges with a swift duck and a dart off to his side like a mouse scrambling from a cat's claws. A snarl ripples from her chest. Too close!
This called for a more wild tactic. This called for teeth.
Her jaws fiercely snap for his neck and shoulders as her own lunge is made, springing on her hind legs to place nimble forelegs upon his back, an effort to bring him to the ground. Outwardly haphazard, but her eyes burn with knowing.